


The Music In You

by Passerby



Category: Lana Del Rey - West Coast (The Young Proffesionals Minimal Remix)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sad, realizing stuff too late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:36:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5744107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Passerby/pseuds/Passerby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the song says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Music In You

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes a little bugger that did not let me rest until I´d written it down. A result of listening to the song way too often in a short period of time, I guess.

**\- Down on the West Coast they got a saying -**

He was sitting at their favorite beach, legs slightly bent in front of him and jeans hitched just under his knees. The guys already built a solid bonfire that was already ablaze, merrily crackling several feet behind his back, entertaining their friends standing around it. They were chattering and butting beers.  
He came back after a long time away and almost right the moment he set his foot on the ground of the airport back home, on West Coast, one of his friends assaulted his phone, calling him about this gathering. They did not see each other for ages, their group. Not all of them.

**\- “If you’re not drinkin’ then you’re not playin’.” -**

They said they wanna gather everyone from their gang there, for shit and giggles like they used to hang out back in high school. For old times’ sake. And he had no veto right to refuse, because he was gone the longest from them all. So his presence was obligatory. After such an assault, it was clear his friend expected him to argue, presenting an excuse of why he cannot go. No wonder. Every time somebody called him from their group to invite him back home for this or that event, he did not have time to spare and always declined.  
He would not argue now, though. He genuinely wanted to see them again.  
  
After an hour or so of participating in bitching, nagging and making fun of each other he moved a little bit further away from the fire, though – needing a quieter place for a while. He did not go far, still able to hear their conversation clearly, only muted.  
So here he was, letting the gentle froth of a tide lick at his feet lazily. The hum of the sea calming him, as it always did. Maybe now even more so.  
There was coming a soft melody in surprisingly swift and catchy beat from the beach restaurant nearby.  
They met here.  
_He was a surfer and me a naive starting singer who wanted to have the world at my feet, for them to know my name._  
It did not take long to see their group with an additional surfer member. They clicked together immediately, the two of them, and his friends weren´t far behind in accepting _him_ in their group´s real core.  
_He_ was the one who would make him laugh when they all went to a karaoke club. Both having their „roles“ chosen, complementing each other. He, singing and showing the World what his voice had to offer, while his tall, blonde surfboy danced purposefully lame choreography, forcing him to unceremoniously snort and, hence, in most cases stop singing, not being able to continue, laughing with the rest of the squad.

**\- Down on the West Coast I get this feeling like**   
**It all could happen that’s why I’m leaving**   
**You for the music, you for the music -**

Then the opportunity came. A chance to strike a record deal and if everything went without a hitch he could go on a tour with several other interprets, singing for masses of people. Living his dream. And he could feel it deep in his bones. This was the big break for him. But he´d have to leave West Coast.  
_He_ wouldn´t leave it here, though. The seaside, _his_ surfboard.  
_He_ loved surfing  
And he could not pass up such one-chance-only deal.  
He loved _music_.  
So they broke up.

**\- You say you miss me, -**

But not really. Even though they decided it´s better to end it. Every time he called from recording studio, _he_ picked it up. They talked a lot to each other like that. Never pretending they don´t miss each other – to the contrary, they said their fair share of those – but also never forcing the other to leave what they love.  
He was only nineteen. They had whole life in front of them, they had time.

**\- I can see my baby swingin’**   
**His Parliament’s on fire and his hands are up**   
**On the balcony and I’m singing -**

Didn´t mean he did not think about _him_. He did – many times.  
Remembering _him_ dancing. This time slowly. Seducing him with swaying hips. _His_ soft smile. Closed eyes. Head slightly inclined to the side while _his_ hands were up in the air, relaxed and joined on top of _his_ head. A cigarette held in-between _his_ long fingers, smoke crawling above it, rolling in slow swirls through the air. Then _him_ , catching his eyes with _his_ own. One corner of tempting lips quirking further up. The curtains following the lead of _his_ body in slow movement in the light summer breeze coming through the open doors that lead to the balcony.  
He often remembered such moments when singing.

**\- and I say I miss you so much -**

But he was successful with the record deal. So they took him to the fest they talked about the first time. Soon after that followed recording of new songs, then other festivals to participate at. It was steadily going and quite strong. Fans quickly growing in numbers. Then one of the calls from his friends came. And he should´ve known better, considering all was going so well.  
_He_ died in an accident. Crossing a street. A car, speeding over the allowed limit hit _him_.  
And _he_ was gone.  
Just like that.

**\- It all could happen… -**

He grabbed a handful of sand, not even looking at it, just needing to feel something that would ground him.

**\- Down on the West Coast, they got their icons**   
**Their silver starlets, their Queens of Saigon -**

He could easily say he was one of the stars West Coast was proud of now. He belonged to that elite people knew about, talked about – exactly what he dreamed of.

**\- But you’ve got the music, you’ve got the music**   
**In you, don’t you? -**

Yet, the concerts, fans, record deals…they got no more _music_ in themselves that _him_ in one breath. A realization that came too late.  
He looked to the horizon where the sun was slowly getting ready to fall asleep in the blue sheets of the sea. Listening to the lively chatter of his friends behind him.  
He smiled bitterly.

**\- I’m in love**   
**I’m in love -**


End file.
